A Different Kind of Persuasion
by my blue castle
Summary: Anne Elliot, aged nineteen, is about to run into the love of her life, literally. A short fic of a chance encounter that ends with what appears to be a forever-broken heart. Enjoy!


Anne stood transfixed before the looking glass, fingers gently smoothing down the front of her ball gown. She cocked her head to the side to find Elizabeth, who stood behind her younger sister, yawning into her gloved hands. "You needn't stay if you don't want to, Elizabeth," Anne told her over her puffed sleeve.

Elizabeth straightened herself up, stretching her arms out until they could no more extend. "Not that you aren't the _sweetest_ looking girl, but I seem to have lost all sense of time. Will it _ever_ be time to go to sleep?" She swept out of the room, her own ball gown looking as beautiful as to outshine Anne's. And Anne did not care. Even though this was the night in which she would celebrate her nineteenth birthday she did not mind. As long as everyone was pleased, albeit a little bored, she would manage. She fingered the curls that swept over her the back of her neck.

Mary waltzed in, flapping her fan over her bosom, which was mightily exposed due to the scandalous cut of her gown. Anne winced when she caught sight of it. To make up for her lack of beauty, Mary would often dress herself in such a fashion that those around her would ogle in stupefaction, forgetting entirely that her face was as plain as a pea and the nose over-large. Not ugly, but certainly not pretty.

"Elizabeth's making such a racket about how dull this is that I've got a monstrous ache forming behind my eyes. Do you think I'll faint tonight?" Mary prattled on. She stood beside her elder sister and frowned, pulling at the sleeves of Anne's dress.

"Why would you want to?" Anne asked.

"If I time it right, perhaps I could faint into Lord Fairchild's lap. He's devilish handsome with those tawny eyes of his," Mary sighed. "You know, those sleeves on your dress are just too…um, what is the word?"

Elizabeth moped back into the room, a new tiara firmly planted on her head. It was crusted with diamonds and brought the glint in her eyes to light. "Lord Fairchild would die before he ever looked at you, Mary. You're hardly out of leading strings yet."

Mary's jaw dropped. "I will have you know that one season is enough to catch a mate."

"Just because you've just come into society and have attended three assemblies and two rout parties does not mean you are experienced enough for the likes of _that_ man," Elizabeth sneered at her youngest sister.

"You need hardly be cruel," Anne admonished her. "Though Lord Fairchild may have refused your advances it does not mean Mary hasn't a chance in the world."

Both of Anne's sisters looked at her in astonishment. Anne was known to not have a cruel bone in her body, and the words she'd just said were slightly on the acidic side. Could she have some potential after all?

"He didn't refuse me, Anne. If you remember correctly, I was the one to refuse him when he came to call." Elizabeth turned to observe her delicate nose in the looking glass. It looked too sharp that evening; it was unfortunate that she could not just cut it off.

"Oh please!" Mary cried, unwrapping some marzipan from Anne's dresser and popping it noisily into her mouth as she prepared to set her oldest sister down.

"Girls!" Lady Russell exclaimed as she paused at the door whilst walking down the hallway in search of Anne. "Bickering may give one satisfaction in the form of set-downs and witty remarks, but it doesn't bring you a husband. It just adds wrinkles to those lovely faces of yours."

Elizabeth's eyes darted at Mary. "Not all of us are as lovely as Mary is," she sarcastically whispered in her direction.

"I will pretend I did not hear that, Elizabeth. Only schoolgirls would resort to such tactics," Lady Russell said.

Elizabeth's shoulders squared up and she stood before the woman. "No matter the things you've done for this family, you will never be _my_ mother." With that said she stepped out of the room once more. Mary just lowered her eyes, knowing she'd gone too far but was unwilling to apologize for her sister's actions. She drifted out as well.

"Speaking of mothers!" Lady Russell laughed.

"Please forgive her," Anne pleaded with her dear friend.

"I've already forgotten about it, Anne," she replied, taking hold of the young woman's shoulders firmly. "I've learned to ignore such faults that can't be cured. It makes being your family's neighbor a lighter burden."

Anne laughed softly. "What is this?" she asked. Lady Russell handed her a deep cherry-colored, wooden container. She opened it and lost all the breath that she'd had in her lungs.

"Mama's rubies!" Anne finally managed to cry out. "I thought they'd been lost."

"I've been holding them for one of you since the day she left this earth for Heaven. They were entrusted to me by her, you see."

"And you gave them to _me_? I don't understand."

"What's there not to understand, dear? They're yours to keep and wear."

Anne shook her head as she stroked the surfaces of the earrings with the tips of her fingers. "But Elizabeth deserves them. She's the eldest."

"And has her own jewelry—enough to fill this room if she would put them all in one place. You've barely a pearl to your name, let alone one ring." Lady Russell lifted them out of their box and pinned them into the holes in Anne's small ears. Then she placed a swift kiss on the girl's brow. "You do them justice, my dear."

"Th—thank you, Lady Russell," Anne warbled as she examined the way her ears seemed to emanate a red glow. "I can almost see Mama now, getting ready for a ball. Putting powder on her face…."

"Now don't get all melancholy on me, child. Finish your toilette and then come downstairs. Your guests will be arriving soon."

"_My guests_," moaned Anne. "They are rather like Father's friends, people so stuffy and dull that I don't wonder why Elizabeth just wants to go to bed now."

"Is that so?" laughed Lady Russell.

"Yes, as boring as snow on a grave," Anne said.

Lady Russell snorted. "Now where did you hear _that_?"

"I believe Mama was wont to say that, or something along those lines."

"Well, that makes sense then. Lady Elliot was often heard making the queerest remarks." Lady Russell patted her neighbor's daughter's head and shut the door behind her when she left. Anne ran to the looking glass once more and tilted her head this way and that, trying to find the best angle at which the rubies would look the loveliest. There. She sighed and sank into her chair. It was the best birthday present anyone had ever given her.

* * *

Sir Walter Elliot lounged against the banister of the large flight of stairs residing at the front of the Kellynch Hall. He swept a hand over his well-dressed hair, putting a stray strand in its place. Elizabeth glided down the steps to stand beside her father. "You look handsome as ever, Father," she observed, readying herself for a similar compliment.

"Of course I do, my dear," Sir Walter replied, snorting. "My valet could have done better, of course, but the humidity in the air is hardly doing anything for me. I could say the same for you, but I shan't."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and ran to the miniature mirror hanging on the wall beside a potted planted. She peered into it and sighed. He was right, as usual. "My dress is new," she mentioned.

"Charming as usual," said Sir Walter. "You are by far the handsomest of my daughters. You are almost as good-looking as I am. You ought to be proud of yourself."

"I am, Father," preened Elizabeth. Anne came down to meet them, hearing their words clearly from up the stairs. She couldn't help but feel a little envious of the attention lavished upon Elizabeth, who was spoilt from the day of her birth and bred from the start to make a brilliant marriage.

"Father," greeted Anne, curtsying to her father and sister.

"Ah, Anne," Sir Walter said in turn. "Quite the improvement from this morning. The dress, however, is much too plain. You should have had Elizabeth's dresser put one together for you."

"No!" gasped Elizabeth. "She is _my_ dressmaker and only mine. Every gown I have is an original and will not be made a copy of. Not even for my own _sister_."

"Don't get jealous now," Sir Walter laughed good-naturedly. "She won't be stealing her—just borrowing."

"I'm fine as it is, Father," Anne murmured. "I don't want to stand out."

"Lord, but it's your ball," Mary cried out from above, leaning over the railing from upstairs, hands hanging limply into the air. "I would dress like a goddess and outshine even Annis Watterson."

Elizabeth craned her neck up. "You could never shine a candle to Annis Watterson, no matter the dress or jewelry you wear."

"You'll see, Bess," Mary nearly wailed, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She ran down the stairs, an ugly blotch forming on her cheeks and chest.

"Don't call me that!" shouted Elizabeth. "You know how much I dislike it!"

Sir Walter just stood at his post at the foot of the stairs, eyes jumping back and forth between his two girls. A sick feeling crept into Anne's stomach and sat heavy there, a solid mass of anxiety. "Mary you must quiet yourself. You may get a headache again."

Mary's mouth snapped shut and she pointed a threatening finger at Elizabeth. "I shall put a stop to this conversation, Sister, but I am not done with you." Elizabeth just laughed and waltzed once more to the mirror. While arranging her neckline she caught a glimpse of Anne's earrings dangling elegantly at her neck.

"Those are Mother's rubies, Anne!" she cried out, planting herself in front of her and taking a hold of them to examine them.

"Lady Russell gave them to me," Anne said, shrinking back.

"And what right does she have to be giving them to you when _I_ am the eldest and have most right to them?" Elizabeth whined.

"I—I don't—," began Anne. The sound of approaching carriages upon the courtyard just outside reached the ears of those inside Kellynch.

"You may fight for them after the ball, daughters," Sir Walter said smoothly, pushing the girls apart to arrange them to better greet the guests as they arrived. "There is no time for this now. I, however, would love to hear Lady Russell's excuse for this misunderstanding."

Elizabeth tossed her head prettily and arranged a smile on her face. Mary wiggled her shoulders and did the same. The butler opened the door and Lady Russell glided in, a fabulous turban set upon her head of rich blue and purple silks. A peacock feather dangled fashionably over her right ear.

"A timely arrival, Lady Russell," Sir Walter told her as she curtsied over his hand and he kissed hers expertly. She beamed.

"I had just enough time to arrange the last of the flowers and then prepare myself, Sir Walter. And what a lovely picture you all make," Lady Russell said of the family. "You will be the belle of the ball, Anne." While the girl faintly flushed, Elizabeth sniffed and stuck a foot out to glance appreciatively at her dancing slippers.

Lord Fairchild arrived with his mother, father, and sisters, every one of them as beautiful as the next. Elizabeth smiled, though her eyes were as hard as steel, when he bowed briefly in her direction. His left eyebrow raised a fraction of a centimeter, but he said nothing. Mary fluttered her lashes at him, but his attention was caught when Annis Watterson and her father entered through the door.

"It's so wonderful to see you growing into your looks," Mr. Watterson said kindly to Anne as he bowed. "You've something of your mother in you." Anne smiled widely and nodded her head shyly.

Annis shrugged a shoulder in agreement. "I've heard nothing else but praise of you, Miss Anne," she said. Her eyes stole furtively in Lord Fairchild's direction and she simpered, looking directly at Elizabeth as she spoke. The rivals glared pleasantly at one another. Lord Fairchild just looked amused as he strode away to find himself a drink. Elizabeth looked likely to stomp her foot, and Mary was just plain disappointed.

Other guests gathered at Kellynch within the hour as they arrived to celebrate Miss Anne's nineteenth birthday. Many of Anne's acquaintances stopped by to chat with her as everyone waited for supper to commence. "What lovely earrings, Anne," Rosamond Towers gushed to her close friend.

"They were a present from Lady Russell, from my mother," Anne told her, allowing Rosamond to finger them carefully.

"I've never seen such charming rubies before. Or rather, I've never seen them so charmingly worn," said Rosamond. "I must get a pair like these for myself."

"Elizabeth means to steal them from me," Anne sighed. "And I can see why she thinks she's entitled to them, her being the eldest of us three. But I shan't relinquish them. They've become mine and mine for eternity."

"Just you wait," laughed Rosamond, "when you're married the jewels your husband gifts you will far outshine them."

"I can't imagine it. They're too precious."

"Ah," her friend exclaimed, craning her long, pale neck, "there's my brother and Charles. Shall I call them over?"

Anne flushed. "I do not mind, but not for long. _He_ stares at me so." Rosamond playful shoved Anne's shoulder and beckoned her brother over along with his friend. Charles's eyes immediately flew to Anne, who was prettier than usual in her ball gown. Though he could agree that she was gorgeous on this night, he would have to say that every day she was adorable as can be with her tiny nose and soft eyes.

Anne could feel his stare profusely. Her body tried to squirm but she kept it at bay. The man was handsome, of course, but never had anybody regarded her so, so _intently_ before. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to react, and so she did nothing but avoid him as discreetly as she could. Rosamond delighted in tormenting her.

"May you have a felicitous birthday, Miss Anne," Mr. Towers said to her.

"And a merry nineteenth, too," Charles said. Anne put her hand out as was expected and each young man happily complied with one kiss each. She snatched her hand back as quickly as she could.

"Thank you, gentlemen," she said, "I hope all will be well this year, especially when it concerns France." The conversation immediately swung to matters military, and Anne breathed a sigh of relief. Both young women grew bored with battle jargon and fled the scene.

"Mr. Musgrove was quite attentive, Anne," Rosamond casually mentioned.

"It was required of him," Anne replied in turn. "It is my birthday."

"Speaking of birthdays," began Rosamond, "I have yet to give you your gift."

"That will have to wait," Anne told her. "It's time for supper to start. I will meet up with you at the table."

The supper consisted of the usual fair at the Elliot household, but for some the ice sculptures in the shape of swans and hummingbirds were mightily exquisite. Rosamond, also from a wealthy family, rolled her eyes at the girls cooing over the miniature birds set at their plates while tarts and various cakes were being devoured.

"As usual, your father exceeds himself at his table," she said, wiping crumbs of sugar from her lap. "And are those bird nests of spun sugar?"

Anne squinted at them. "I believe so. Those were Lady Russell's idea, though."

Rosamond nodded in understanding. "She has such fashionable taste. Do you like her feather? I think it cuts quite the dash."

"It succeeds on her because she's a wealthy widow, Rosamond. Otherwise, I'm sure others would find it hard to like those turbans," Anne told her after chewing on a slice of raspberry pecan cake.

"Everybody's wearing them in Paris, though," mused Rosamond. "I'd like to wear one myself. I think I'd feel like a highwayman or…or a pirate." They giggled across the table at each other and shushed immediately as Sir Walter stood up, his chair scraping across the floor. He delicately tapped his fingernails against his wineglass, eliciting a loud ching chinging.

"It is my pleasure to congratulate my daughter, Anne, on obtaining her nineteenth year today," Sir Walter began, spreading his hands out as he looked down at his middle child. "And it is with even greater pleasure to tell you all how much this young woman means to me. Always a comfort in anxious times and someone who always lends an ear, Anne has become so accomplished she might as well start managing the house right this minute." Everyone laughed at that, but Elizabeth held back an undignified sniff. _She _should be the one to do those duties, but it was odd that. She hardly even had time to sleep herself, what with all the invitations and outings that she was obliged to attend. But still. At least her calls on the tenants were regular and they delighted in the simple things she gave them.

Elizabeth glowered even more to herself when Lady Russell stood up, proclaiming to the world how good, sweet, kind Anne deserved the best of everything in the world. Even those damned bloody earrings. She'd wear them better, no doubt. Lord Fairchild would certainly admire them. Once they went back to London after Anne's birthday celebrations Elizabeth could breathe a sigh of relief. She'd not be bored then. Elizabeth decided that a purchase of some new evening gowns would help soothe her raw nerves.

Mary just smiled through it all. She knew Anne was kind, and no one needed to tell her that. There were various evenings when Anne pressed lavender-water-soaked cloths to her brow during an intense ache in her head. They were always effective, those ministrations. She'd probably need one after the ball, for dancing always made her head feel ready to expand past its limits.

Anne tried to ignore the stares of everyone in the large dining hall. Lady Russell's words warmed her heart, and her father's were the nicest things he'd said to her in a long while. Perhaps he was trying to appear the affectionate father to the world, whilst in reality he was concerned only with himself and his baronetcy's reputation. Or maybe he cared just a little.

Anne stood and thanked her father's guests and announced that the dancing was to begin. People cheered and stood away from the table, their chairs creating a din that was hard to hear anybody over. Rosamond grabbed Anne's arm and they pushed themselves along with the crowd to the ballroom. The musicians, many of the finest in the area, were in the process of tuning their instruments in the loft above the dancing floor. Garlands of flowers hung from the light fixtures and the windows, perfuming the air with the sweet smell of a garden.

"Shall we dance then?" Rosamond asked of Anne. They stood to the side as everyone filed into the room.

"I don't know whom I'm to dance with…" Anne told her.

"Lady Russell or your father will bring along someone suitable for the first dance," assured Rosamond. And she was right. Sir Walter came over to Anne, a young man trailing behind him. It was Rosamond's brother. Anne sighed with relief. At least she'd have a comfortable opening dance.

"Mr. Towers," Anne greeted him with an elegant, sweeping curtsy, for he was as near in rank to her to be almost equal. He bowed just as well and led her to the head of the forming line to begin the evening's frolicking.

"Miss Anne," Mr. Towers began with an apology, "I am not much of a dancer. Shall I try to not step on your feet?" They linked arms as the orchestra began to play.

"Please, Mr. Towers," Anne replied, "for I've monstrous numbers of dances to get through." Rosamond's brother nodded his head in a sort of bow and they skipped across the floor, his foot coming dangerously close to hers.

"Pardon me!" he exclaimed, unheard by the dancers next to them as a result of the noise level. Anne giggled at another misstep, and she tried to trounce his foot with her own but it darted out of the way.

"I see you, Miss Anne," Mr. Towers laughed, "and I shan't be taken in by your tricks." This somehow led him to avoid her feet for the rest of the dance. And by this tactic Anne was able to preserve her feet for as long as she could.

That dance being done with, Anne's hand was sought after by many an eligible man and she was kept busy for a long period of time. She was in the arms of an older gentleman when she decided that enough was enough. She was thirsty as could be and would need hydration if she were to continue. She excused herself afterwards and made a beeline for the refreshments. She snatched up a glass of what she thought was punch and gulped it down in the privacy of the corner of the room.

Rosamond appeared at her side. "Don't be getting tipsy now, Anne."

"What?" Anne asked her friend, wiping a droplet of liquid from her chin with her handkerchief.

"That's wine that you were gulping down like some common sailor," Rosamond admonished.

"I figured that once I took the first sip," Anne told her. "I'm just terribly thirsty. Besides, one cup is hardly going to do me any harm. I've had it before and am fully aware of its dangers."

They stood in silence and watched the mass of people swirling and hopping smartly on their feet. Rosamond cleared her throat warningly. "I think your Charles is approaching."

Anne started. "He isn't mine, and besides, it isn't as if I dislike him."

"Well, then why don't you dance with him?"

"He stares so, and Lady Russell—."

"Don't care what Lady Russell thinks—I'm looking for your opinion here. Can't you ever think for yourself?" Rosamond suddenly snapped. She grabbed at a flute of wine but knocked it over instead. "Blast!"

"Must you use that word so loudly?" Anne asked her.

"I shall use whatever word I want and whenever, and don't try to change the subject."

"I'm not."

"You are. Every time you open your mouth, you're praising Lady Russell like she was your mother or something."

Anne's eyebrows snapped together. "She's the closest thing I have to her. You've no right to speak of her like that."

"I know," Rosamond sighed, "but you ought to not take her advice to heart like you always do."

"I think enough for myself, thank you," Anne said tersely. "I'm no Annis Watterson."

"Didn't say you were!" exclaimed Rosamond.

"You implied it. I'm not a half-wit." Anne helped herself to another glass of wine.

"Fine!" her friend huffed. "Fine. You aren't."

"Thank you for that!" Anne said somewhat sarcastically. "Now to escape." She darted behind the drapery of the window at her back and planned her exit while taking generous sips of her beverage.

"You're going to flee, aren't you?" Rosamond asked her in a hushed voice, condemingly. "I can't believe you. He isn't so in love with you that he can't live without the sight of your face. Do him a favor."

"I shan't. I know he appreciates my looks, but I hardly know him. And he isn't exactly what my father calls a brilliant match."

Rosamond rolled her eyes. "I understand. My father says the same thing about him, but my brother continues the acquaintance and my father has given up ever trying to sever the connection. It's not as if they're from the docks, I suppose."

Anne nodded. She peeped round the drapery: "Is the coast clear, then?"

Rosamond craned her neck to look about her. "Just about. I'd go—right—right—now!"

Anne nearly tripped whilst emerging from her hiding place. She darted along the wall and out the door as quickly as a chicken in flight from a fox. She was down the hall and almost out of the door leading to the conservatory at the back of the Kellynch estate when she slammed bodily into another human.

Anne's wine glass upended itself on them, soaking crimsonly into their waistcoat. "I—I'm sorry, sir. I. Apologize!" she said hurriedly, words running into each other and tumbling out of her mouth.

"It was my fault, Miss Elliot," the man said. "I chose this evening to not wear my armor and look what happened."

Anne just stared at him in astonishment. He was not angry. Her father would have exploded in anger. That's what people did. The gentleman laughed. "I'm sorry for not introducing myself. The name's Frederick Wentworth." He bowed expertly, hands tucked at his back and head lowering just so. Anne had never seen him before.

Anne quickly smiled. "My name is—."

"Anne Elliot," he supplied for her. "This is your ball I believe."

"Of course," Anne stammered, flushing. "Will the stain come out?"

"It usually does. This waistcoat's stood enough spillage to astonish any laundrywoman at how clean it is," Mr. Wentworth told her, laughing. "Not that I, of course, make a habit of drinking so much I can't hold a glass." He laughed again. And it was then that Anne noticed his coat. It was in the design of the ones that navy men wore while on land. There were enough of them to be walking around town that even a child would recognize the buttons.

"You are in the navy," Anne pointed out.

Mr. Wentworth looked down at his coat. He chuckled. "Well what do you know, Miss Elliot? That I am. I'd forgotten that."

Anne couldn't help but smile. "If you did that button then the stain would not show so well, Mr. Wentworth."

"You're right about that." He took hold of the button began to do it up but failed miserably. "These buttons are quite small, Miss Elliot. My large fingers are no match for it. I shall have to do without it and be shamed, not that it's your fault or anything, Miss Elliot." He bowed once more.

Anne stepped forward daringly, not quite sure what she was about. "Might I?" she asked him, certain that her family would frown upon her actions.

Mr. Wentworth's smile stilled as he looked out her outstretched hands. "If you would, Miss Elliot," he allowed. Anne tried a smile but it wavered. She ducked her head and reached out to easily do up the gentleman's button. His breath stirred the stray hairs on Anne's head, and she suddenly wished she'd just gone and danced with Charles Musgrove after all.

Anne completed the task. She stepped away from him as quickly as she could, trodding on the hem of her ballgown. She teetered on her feet. Mr. Wentworth jumped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her. Disaster was averted. The gown not torn. But Anne's heart sped up as she looked into the steady gaze of this strange young man.

"Miss Elliot," he said. Silence. His fingers tightened in their hold.

Anne wriggled out of his grasp, still aware of the way his hands had taken hold of her. She could still feel the places that he'd touched her. It was surreal. Perhaps she'd drunk too much wine—the very thing Rosamond had warned her not to do. The thing that her father did much too often. And something that she disliked doing immensely.

"I must get back," she excused herself, "Mr. Wentworth."

"Before you leave, Miss Elliot," he said, "might I ask something of you?"

Anne hesitated. It was the least she could do. "Of course, Mr. Wentworth."

"Could I, um, request a dance from you?" he asked, tugging at his coat. "Might I have the honor of a dance, Miss Elliot?"


End file.
